“O, how good in you to think of it!” said Marion. “Tell her I’ll telegraph myself when I can get a chance.”
“How shall I word it not to scare ’em to death? I never writ a dispatch in my life.”
“Nor I either,” said Marion, “but I know you want to say as few words as possible. If I had a pencil and paper I would try.”
Miss Manning’s traveling-bag supplied both, and their combined genius, inexperienced as they were, produced this rather obscure telegram:
“Marion Stubbs is after them. They’ve got Elfie. Wait till she sends for you.
“A. Manning.”
It did not seem very clear to Marion, but she hardly knew how to change it without offending Miss Manning, who seemed highly pleased with it; so she wrote the address beneath and gave her a half dollar for expenses, neither of them having any idea what a message ought to cost.
The next station was Colby, and, feeling sure that Blockville or Troy would be the destination of the party, Marion did not look out for them, but idly watched the group of passengers who were about to get in. Suddenly there appeared upon the platform, making quick way to the waiting-room, one of the black-eyed women with a child in her arms much wrapped in a long dark cloak, followed closely by Madame Belotti and the man.
“O, look, Miss Manning!” she exclaimed. “They are going to stop here and I haven’t my stop-over check!”
“Never mind that, child,” said Miss Manning; “jump out quick. Mebbe your ticket’ll do any way; ask ’em at the office ’fore you get on the train again, and don’t worry if you have to lose it. Mrs. Abbott wont care what you spend in such a case. Good-bye, dear, don’t you lose my direction, and write to me sure as soon as you can.”